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He’s dead. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. "I give you one minute for reflection. Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress. “It was poison—why not?” she answered.
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